Ultio Ultionis
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: "Ah, geeze! I am sorry! Sorry!" The blonde drops his luggage needed for the meeting and he gently brings the woman to her feet. Even though he's acting like his Canadian brother, he still keeps on apologizing and the lady just keeps smiling.


He first meets Rem Savarem on a dry morning while he was running late for work. He held a large briefcase that occasionally swung from his gangly limbs; obviously, it was filled with information needed for this month's meeting. Of course, he takes care not to swing too recklessly; he doesn't want to get anyone to get hurt. So when he dashes down the corner, mere seconds away from the automatic sliding doors, he pretty much mows down a young woman.

"Ah, geeze! I am sorry! Sorry!" The blonde drops his luggage needed for the meeting and he gently brings the woman to her feet. Even though he's acting like his Canadian brother, he still keeps on apologizing and the lady just keeps smiling. When he realizes that he's probably acting too much like a wuss, the young man stops for a second and breathes.

As he does, he hears a small intake of breath and a chuckle.

"Finally, I thought you were going to die from lack of oxygen." It was at this point that Alfred realizes that she has warm brown eyes and her hair looked very long and soft. Although a heavy object had knocked her down, she looks like it was a daily occurrence. Heck, for all blonde knew, it was probably was.

"It's just that I'm supposed to host this meeting and-and—" His bright blue eyes widen in fear and he brings out a sharpie from his pocket. After ripping the cap from the marker, he gently tugs her arms and writes down his phone number. "Normally, I would be a lot more accommodating," he tries to apologize once again, "but my colleagues would kill me. If you have any medical concerns or if you need me to pay for something, just give me a call." He flashes her a grin and hauls up his case before entering the building.

The woman looks at her hand in mystification before shrugging.

The situation was laughable and almost hard to believe, but she has a feeling that she should try to call this person who knocked her down.

If anything, she would probably gain a new friend.

She glances at her hand in appreciation before walking in an opposite direction.

* * *

They keep on meeting after that incident. Of course, it had to be the woman to contact Alfred. She was interested not because of his good looks—although, that's what he likes to tell himself—but because she noticed that building that the young blonde walked into. Apparently, that's where all young politicians or other people with power work. Or at least, that's what word on the street depicts.

She tells him that one day, and Rem finds herself startled when her friend starts laughing like she had told a joke.

"Nah, its more like a playground where all the kids of differing nationalities start ganging up on each other for no other reason than to keep up the pretense that everything is alright with the world." A true bright smile lights up his tanned complexion as a confused expression appears on Rem's face. She is confused, but at this point in their friendship, she knows that he'll probably tell her the smaller details later. Right now, it's all about fun and games and just getting to know each other.

"Well, as long as you enjoy your job—"

"Which, I do!" He exclaims proudly.

"Then I guess you wouldn't mind some homemade lasagna, won't you Alex?" She turns away to head into the kitchen where an aroma wafts into the air. What she doesn't notice is the way Alex's face tightens when he hears his 'name' come out of her mouth like that.

It's a lie and he knows it.

They keep on meeting each other and every time she calls out to him, he feels his insides recoil in disgust because he should have been a hero. Not a liar.

* * *

Alfred thinks that he knows the entire life story of his girlfriend (lover, trusted confidant, favorite human). He knows that her favorite flowers are red geraniums, that she likes her hair long because she feels freer that way, and her favorite song was Sound Life. Often, she would burst into spontaneous harmonization, as Alfred would often look on in amazement. (It's times like these that Alfred wonders if this was how France and other unlucky nations felt whenever they were around their favorite human).

So, it was very much to his surprise, when he decides to knock on her apartment door one day, a look of content on his face. What he sees inside the normally tidy apartment is an array of dirty dishes in the sink, piles of mail on the table, and a crummy looking Rem on the couch.

The first thing that Alfred thinks is that she was on her period. When asked, Rem just moans a small no in reply.

The second thing that Alfred thinks of saying is whether or not if she needed financial help or something. Again, she muttered a no. However, there's a tone of weariness and irritation that alerts Alfred that there is something very much wrong with the young woman.

The blond walked silently towards her and sits on the floor, resting his head against the couch as he feels Rem's hand brush through his blonde locks lovingly. The two stay like that for moments, no one daring to make a sound. Minutes pass before Rem starts to murmur something so intelligible that even with his heightened sense of hearing, Alfred has a trouble of understanding.

"You might want to say that again," Alfred suggests helplessly. "I can't be the hero if you don't speak up!" It was a lame way to cheer the woman up, but Alfred can't think of anything else. His tense body somewhat relaxes when Rem laughs bitterly, but that's okay. It's a start on a road to recovery from whatever Rem was ailing.

"Did I… Did I ever tell you that I killed somebody?"

Alfred looks up towards the woman's closed eyes, they were closed but there was a stirring of unrest behind the lids. It's a scene that Alfred does not like at all. He tries to calm her down by brushing through her long locks and rubbing circles into the skin of her hand.

"Rem, you're too kind—"

"No, I killed it! I killed it!" She breaks down weeping; her fingers leave the comfort of Alfred's hair, leaving the blonde feeling abandoned and alone. "I-I had this thing with someone," she starts to explain. "I thought we were going to be… I envisioned a future for the both of us and one night…" She stops. Memories flashed in her war, brown eyes as she tries her hardest not to appear to be too overly weak and emotional. "And when I found out that I was," her voice falters, but she still tries to say the word. "…Pregnant, my boyfriend left me and I didn't want anyone to find out and-and-and—"

Alfred shushes her and brings her down from the couch and places her on his lap. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear and he takes extra measures into not intimidating the young human.

He doesn't know the whole story, but he has a feeling that it ended badly. Nevertheless, he stays there, protecting the princess in his strong arms late until the next day.

* * *

"You know… What's done has been done," Alfred says as he tucks the comfortable pillows around her. "I won't ask questions, but I have a feeling that you were younger when you made this decision to be with this guy." He gives her a small rueful smile that is designed to cheer her up and for the most part, it works. He bends down to kiss her forehead in a chaste, but loving way and steps back so that he can talk to her once more.

"Anyways, what counts isn't that you killed what could have been a new child, it's that you've learned from your mistakes. Right? No one has the right to take away the life of someone else. True, you learned from your mistake at a high price, but now you know better. It's time to move on and begin anew. You can't stay focused on the past."

He turns to leave for door, but Rem stops him with a call.

"You're an angel. Thanks…" There's a weak smile on her face and Alfred knows that it would take a long time until she is fully healed, but it's a start.

"Nah, I'm a hero!" He flashes her a grin and leaves.

* * *

Matthew visits one day and he notices. His twin notices that his sunnier brother laughs, smiles, and becomes more like himself when he talks with this woman, this Rem Savarem. If this was a different life, and if they weren't so 'special,' Matthew would have cheered his younger brother on. He would have been teasing him endlessly, making him laugh. However, instead of happiness, apprehension lines his ageless face and wears down his mental faculties.

Once Alfred gets off his cellphone, he finally sees his older twin and he pales.

"How long?" Matthew waits while Alfred racks his brain for a suitable phrase to get the Canadian off his trail. It's no use, when Matthew gets set on getting something done, he's on it like a bloodhound scenting his way to the target. Alfred's still thick in the skull even after centuries upon centuries of living, but he finally wises up. There's a serious expression on his face, a sight that few were granted to seeing.

"About two years," Alfred mutters. "She's a nice girl… interested in the sciences."

Matthew looks at the ground. He knows that he really shouldn't tread upon romantic territory (this is more of France's forte) but this is his brother. If the other nations knew about this strange development in the middle of the game of survival, who knows what might happen? Everyone was close to war because of the depleting resources; this Rem woman could prove to be Alfred's downfall if he wasn't careful. As a brother and not as a nation, Matthew Williams was concerned.

"You're a nation. I'm pretty sure you got the crash course version of France and Joan of Arc," Matthew pauses as he gauges Alfred's reaction. There's a tightening of the jaw and a clenching of his fists. Canada finds himself tensing as well; he knows a fight brewing when he sees one. However, time has mellowed the American and Alfred just resigned himself to a pained expression. "You understand that we can't tolerate a breach in security with things so tight and all." Matthew pauses for a second before marginally brightening. "Maple, you're lucky that you get to stay this far away from the White House, took me months to schedule this visit!" Matthew tries to regain some semblance of normality, even going as far as to include his stereotypical tic, but the mood is gone and the underlying message is clear.

Do something drastic.

Make sure to put your people in front of yourself.

You aren't and you will never be human.

Alfred smiles and blinks back the tears from his eyes.

"People don't listen to wallflowers that like spouting about maple syrup!" Alfred doesn't mind getting hit in the head.

Instead, he welcomes it as his mind works in overdrive.

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Rem cries aloud in a laughing manner. She was swinging in the air, courtesy of Alex's strength while she was trying to get hold of the bag that held their meals inside. Instead of answering, Alex only threw her into the air and held out his arms as she fell back down with a mild 'oomph!' "Come on," Rem shrieked happily. "You got yourself promoted or something?"

Alex shook his head of golden hair out of his eyes and gave a coy grin.

"Can't I just give my girlfriend a day off with no other motive than to make sure that there's a smile on her face!"

Rem merely laughed.

Her eyes widenened with admiration and adoration when she was given a bouquet of red flowers.

"Red geraniums," she breathed.

"There you go, keep on smiling!"

* * *

It was only a few weeks later that Rem finds herself kneeling in front of a tombstone, the name of her lover engraved on the cold granite. There isn't much written on it; it's almost too simple for a man with an affinity for the extravagant. However, she knows that he wouldn't have minded.

Carefully, she places the bouquet of red germaniums on at the foot of the stone and she awkwardly stands—kneeling for so long almost cut off circulation.

After a few moments, she would walk away, never noticing a pair of bright blue eyes obscured from sight by a pair of sunglasses.

Two pairs of tears were shed that day.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones, former lover of Rem Savarem, is always on the lookout for her.

It's irrational and pretty much interfering in his duties at the country of the United States, but he can't help it. He wants to be with her and tell Rem that he was sorry for leading her on and leaving her when he was still alive. The tears that she had shed for him only twisted the metaphorical knife in his gut, eliciting much pain.

Even though he's moved to another state and he had the foresight to not tell his true name to the woman, she sometimes gets the feeling that he's still alive. It's a stupid feeling, she knows, but… She shakes her head to clear the feeling when she steps inside a building; the hum of many scientists and engineers working greets her ears. Somehow, she feels more confident, more capable to do the things that she has always wanted to do.

She walks through the hallways and through elevators before she stops in front of a particular door, only labeled SEEDS. This is where her journey into history begins, or at least that's what she romanticizes. Pausing before taking that final leap into an adventure only God knows where she'll end up, Rem finally fingers the knob and pushes through.

The laboratory is striking in that you can immediately sense that important discoveries were to be made and documented. There is plenty of machinery that would make seasoned gear heads weep with desire. She smiles briefly. This is where she belongs.

"Ah, excuse me," Rem turns her head slightly to the left and she is greeted by a tall African American. His brown eyes are warm and inviting and there's a small smile that shines through the fatigue of his visage. In return, Rem smiles up at him, fully determined to make a good impression. "Rem Savarem was it? We've been hearing great things about you."

"That's good to hear! I can't wait to make this project a success!" It's only through sheer willpower that Rem doesn't have a skip in her step as she is introduced to the other major scientists that would eventually transport the entire human race into space.

She's still haunted by memories of her beloved, but that's okay.

He would have wanted her to be happy and that's all that mattered.

* * *

"So, this is it, huh?" Matthew speaks softly, as subtle as the wind that would sometimes blow on lazy afternoons. It would have been an ideal analogy except that there are no longer peaceful, lazy afternoons where you can feel the light caresses of Mother Nature. No. Corruption of the planet's innate beauty had taken its toll and now, all the humans were paying for all of their sins. "We're getting strapped in like infants into a spacecraft that may or may not crash years into the future."

Alfred smiles briefly, but there's a look of solemnity that replaces his easygoing nature. There is no time to play the part of the idiotic American, no matter how hard Alfred wishes.

"Sarcasm. Who knew that our resident Canadian could act so boldly?"

They share a laugh, but it's too forced and they finally stop after a few seconds. The silence blankets heavily over the both of them, both of them wanting to speak, but years of brotherhood and strife stops them from doing so.

"Does she know?"

So many conversations prior to this one usually included this _her _that Canada spoke of. Both of them knew the dangers of speaking her name aloud and Alfred was still reeling from the separation. He was never great at letting things ago.

Alfred sighed before answering.

"I told you before, all the nations are getting inside the pods were only those with high clearances are allowed to enter. Rem doesn't have enough clearance and I'm guessing that she'll never know that I'm still alive. Besides, we're getting on different ships, so that should save the trouble of imminent heartbreak from ever happening." A strange choking sound was heard and Matthew tried his best not to look too guilty at his brother's plight.

But it had to be done.

In consolation, Matthew promises the American that once they land on a new planet, he would make sure that his twin brother would receive the first batch of maple syrup that he had to offer.

* * *

He doesn't count the people that chose to come. Counting would mean that he had succumbed to the fact that most of their kind didn't make it. To not make it meant that Alfred wasn't competent in his abilities to make his plans fall through perfectly.

The Nations that survive the crash gather together in one of the working spacecrafts, all eyes glaring at one particular individual. Everything had gone according to plan—they got most of their energy supply to get working, they landed on a new planet, and most of their civilians were working on their new forms of government. The keyword being _most. _

America—should he really call himself that anymore?—understands the situation, and he tries his hardest not to lash out in anger and humiliation. His feelings are in turmoil and his mind wanders in mindless directions because of the grief that _one of his plans caused. _

"Do you know how many people died?" Some would ask.

"Do you know how many of our own passed on?" Another obvious question would be asked. It would take all of Alfred's self control, but he would remain silent as he would listen to the jury talk and bicker over his uselessness.

Once the meeting adjourns—and for some odd reason he has the feeling that this will be the last time he'll ever see the Nations in the same room again—Alfred swallows and nearly faints when he realizes that his mouth feels as dry as the dust outside. It's at this point where he intimately realizes what the phrase, 'guilt eats at you' truly means.

* * *

Surprise, surprise.

He isn't sure if the signs were that evident or if he's just that good at guessing at the inevitable.

The result remains the same after that meeting.

Alfred never sees all of his colleagues in the same room again.

* * *

Through word of mouth and cleverly worded letters, the surviving nations realize one of two things. One, they can no longer feel the emotions of their people as closely as before. Two, they're slowly aging faster—but not fast enough as the rate of the regular human.

Once Alfred realizes this, he doesn't know what to think. He had been feeling empty before, as if he was missing a piece of himself as the human remnants of Earth were making this planet somewhat hospitable. To finally realize that he was steadily losing the connection to what made him what he was frightened the relatively young nation. He sometimes thought of the notion of loneliness, but he never truly thought of being lonely.

There was always a hum of what his people were thinking; their thoughts, morals, ideals. They were guidelines on how the American felt like he should live. A true stereotype of his nation.

Days upon days pass and Alfred feels…is this what it feels like to be human? To know that you're a human, through and through? To know that you're entitled to all of the rights that were guaranteed to mankind and all that shebang? It's an amazing feeling, and while Alfred reminisces over the days where he could instantly know how his people were doing, he feels like he has earned his right to have the right to just stand on the sidelines and be _himself_.

As for the aging thing, he knows that he'll have to make the most out of his life on Gunsmoke.

* * *

Back at home, on Earth, Alfred always had the nasty urge to move every few years. He was desperately starving for something knew, something that would challenge him. In short, the young man became a drifter.

"You're leaving, mister?" The little girl asked worriedly. She ran forward a couple steps to tug at the man's hem of his coat. There are tears in her eyes as her hands firmly grips at his clothing. A small smile is on her face when the tanned gentleman gently ruffles her hair in a paternal manner.

"Yeah, it's about time I moved out. Staying in one place for too long isn't my style, you know?" He flashes her a bright smile, a quality that was only outshone by the radiance of the sun. The girl looks like she's about to cry, though. Instead of just leaving, he kneels and embraces her into a bear hug.

The little girl giggles and she burrows into his body for a second before pointing at the humongous light bulb behind them.

"What about the plant?"

Alfred could only smile at the girl's selfless nature.

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure that whoever is in charge of her will take great care to make sure that she'll last for a long time."

Another pat on the head and Alfred picks up his rucksack and swings it over his shoulder.

He's a traveler and he could never stay in one place for long.

* * *

Of course he's heard of the July incident. It's one of his favorite cities—bearing the name of his birth month and the fact that one of Rem's descendants lives there.

So when Alfred hears of this carnage of this beloved city, he almost wishes that he could feel something. He wants to feel the pain of the people suffering in the city, wants to hear the screams of anger and agony reverberating in his skull. He's in a city many Iles away, and it's nearly a month before he hears of the city being blown to smithereens by this heathen that goes by the name of Vash the Stampede.

His first reaction is to punch the wall next him. Each punch trying it's hardest to make an indent, but he can't do it anymore. His super strength is no longer reliable; his abilities coming and going like the wind.

His second reaction is to feel anger.

The third is loss.

What can he do? Nobody knows of the secret of the Nations anymore. He no longer has any access to any governmental powers and even if he did, what good would that do? To track down one man for what seemed to be an outlandish crime seemed utterly absurd. Alfred needed to think logically. It's times like these that he would like the full readings on how the people would feel on this matter.

He senses anger and resentment, but he gets the feeling that it's mostly from him.

It's not to surprise that he gets on a wagon and heads for July, fully intent on getting that city working again.

* * *

The feelings of revenge and vows of vengeance cloud Alfred's mind for many months after the incident. He tries to glean as much information as possible so that he could hang the person who killed the one link to Rem and one of his favorite cities. The thunderstorms of his biased feelings for his once lover and the overall guilt he feels for letting this happen; it overwhelms the poor man.

The only way he can truly get back at this monster who seemed to be the bringer of mass destruction was to get him and bring him to justice.

If it wasn't for the people or the hard work of the city, it was going to be done in Rem's name.

* * *

Alfred wants to find this man, this Vash the Stampede.

However, like most things, revenge slowly becomes illogical, not at all thought out. There are still thoughts of resentment, but there were also thoughts on whether he should persecute a man for something that was on a scale way too massive to be completed by one individual.

There's also this terrifying image of Rem telling him to stop, telling him that he should live his life peacefully. That Alfred—or would she still call him Alex?—should just let the gunman go because everyone deserves a second chance and no one, NO ONE should ever kill.

As the days pass and the years begin to mount, Alfred slowly lets go of the dream of finding this wanted man and persecuting him.

That doesn't stop him from looking at the wanted posters from time to time.

* * *

Matthew Williams doesn't tell his brother his feelings, instead he shows it.

Through pats on the back and a restraining hand on a shoulder, Matthew tries.

He's scared for his brother because he doesn't want his southern twin to be edgy and rotten just because of one incident. For him, he has seen far too many movies depicting an older man getting hung up on getting revenge and dying because of it, or going mad with the emotion.

Matthew wasn't stubborn about many things, but he didn't want his brother to become like that.

Therefore, when Alfred grabs a shotgun off the wall, Matthew is quick to shut down his anger with a few placed words of soothing and logic.

It's a good thing that Alfred starts to mellow out a few years after the incident and starts to smile freely without referring to the gunman as a dead _man. _

Matthew may have had the same feelings with his brother over the July destruction, but he doesn't want to lose his personality over it.

* * *

"He's a Nation, I can sense it."

Over the course of many years, too many for Alfred to keep track, the wanted pictures of this Vash the Stampede fellow seemed to be everywhere. At first, Alfred thought that he was just going to be that average outlaw, the one would have a good run for many years and would be apprehended by some rookie bounty hunter—or something along those lines.

"I don't know about you, Mattie, but I think I'm sensing a trend," Alfred commented as he held a wanted poster from twenty years ago to a wanted poster from the present. In his hands were two identical pictures. While one of them was yellowed with age, the other was crisp with a fresh printing. There was no denying that the subject in both posters was the same man suspended in time. He didn't age a bit!

The other blond shrugged, as he looked both of them closely.

"Are you sure that Vash the Stampede didn't bribe the artist into rendering him the same age as before? Or maybe he has some good genes." Even though his ideas were a bit ludicrous to be even voicing aloud, it seemed much more plausible than the theories Alfred entertained. "Either way," Matthew continued, "I don't think that he's one of us."

Alfred frowned for a second before a mischievous glint entered his eyes.

"You're right…maybe he's something else!"

Matthew shook his head at his brother's antics. He glanced at the two posters again, noting that they were exactly the same. The only thing that changed between the two wanted ads was the amount of money listed. There used to be only a couple hundred double dollars, now…

"Sixty billion double dollars," the Canadian whistled to himself. "He's like a pop star, only we never really see him."

"Exactly, no human would ever pass up the opportunity to mingle with his fans, right?"

* * *

Alfred meets Vash the Stampede one uneventful evening, in a bar no less.

It's a night where Alfred can't think of doing anything, but just sitting in a place where everyone else was drinking away most of their paychecks. It was the type of night where he knew that there was nothing to do but mind his own business and—

"Mind if I sit here?"

Alfred just looks up for a second, only as a sign of acknowledgement and not as if he's actually looking, and he nods his head curtly. He turns his head back to his half-filled drink. The blond was trying to savor the flavor of the liquor because he really doesn't want to waste his hard earned money on just desires to satiate his thirst. Not only was that wasteful, but Alfred didn't want to end up homeless.

"Sure, go ahead." Normally, Alfred would have been far more accommodating to strangers, even going as far as to befriend the strangers. However, the plant that he had been working on was slowly dying and they had to have some kind of expert to fix it or something. The whole situation didn't make sense to Alfred since his colleagues were more than capable of administering the right treatment towards the giant bulbs, but the boss wasn't playing around.

Alfred was about to take another swig of the drink when—

Bang.

Alfred kept his head down for a second too long and the walls around him vanish and people are screaming like it's the apocalypse—in a way, it is. Slowly, Alfred raised his tired eyes to see that the man who's sitting at his table is sipping at his beer like nothing had happened. Alfred's about to question him when there's even more shouting and the stranger leaps onto the table with a gun poised over his head.

As shots rang out in the dying light, Alfred could only observe with wary eyes with his hand gently gripping the neck of a beer bottle.

Oh my.

Geranium red coat and a head of blond hair.

Most bystanders would say that there was also a blond guy dressed in standard clothing just sitting around while some rowdy bounty hunters and Vash the Stampede were duking it out. Some would even go far as to say that the man just minding his own business looked like he was too far into his drink to comprehend the world around him.

* * *

It isn't until later that Alfred goes home and collapses on the floor.

What had been doing? Drinking some whiskey, sitting around doing nothing and then-Alfred felt his insides go cold.

Sudden realization.

He just met Vash the Stampede.

* * *

It had been many years since the July incident and the negative feelings associated with the main catalyst of the event still runs thickly through most of the population's blood. They speak of a murderer who shows no remorse for killing. They whisper that the coat that he wears was bloody red because of the victims that he had culled in the past. In short, they were mythical tall tales that could put other great works of fiction to shame.

So when the tall blond man, ageless and still shooting, limps through his door, Alfred doesn't know what to think. The connection between him and his people is faint, almost nonexistent. What feelings that he can glean from the link are pain, suffering, and anger towards this man dressed in geranium red. And yet…

"I don't get your logic," Alfred mumbles in half annoyance and half curiosity. "I'm pretty sure you could go to the nearest hospital and get yourself some bandages there. You're lucky I even have medical equipment!" He twists some white cloth around the gunman's leg, only letting up on pressure when he hears a hiss of pain.

There's a chuckle of amusement that could be easily misunderstood as a grunt of pain before the man answers.

"That may be the case, but you were the only one in the bar who wasn't scared to death of me!" Alfred looks up in time to see that his patient has a look of melancholy in his face. The eyes looked so old and so sad, that Alfred tries his hardest not to weep. "Normally, people would be knocking me out so that they could get the reward, but you just sat there!" Vash's eyes abruptly became more amiable and Alfred found it hard to believe that this man was angsting only seconds prior.

Alfred shrugged helplessly.

"I'm not into that anymore."

The conversation died down and Vash only studied the intense way Alfred was setting his foot properly. It was all done methodically and with precision that only experienced doctors could ever do. Not one movement hinted that Alfred was out to get the spiky hair man, and Vash was grateful for that. Alfred was probably the first human to have ever treated him properly—like he was actual human being.

Once he was done with the bandages, Alfred moved to get out of the room to give the gunman some space.

"If you're hungry, I got some pancakes and donuts on the counter."

Words couldn't describe how happy Vash appeared to be.

* * *

"Dude, guess who I talked to last week!"

"Who?"

"Vash the Stampede!"

* * *

They had a serious talk about the whole encounter and Matthew began to realize that there was probably a lot more to the big bad of Gunsmoke than what other people reported. Of course, Matthew questioned whether or not Alfred was a bit tipsy and if Vash was just acting nice in order to get bandaged properly, but Alfred was firm on the subject.

"Nah, he's a good guy! It's just that nobody puts in a good word for him."

Matthew raises his eyebrows but he lets that matter slide. Instead, he starts to ask another question of a whole other category.

"Did you ask him if he was like us?"

* * *

They were walking with their desert animals, shuffling with an earnest gait, when they heard sounds of a person huffing like they were bearing a large weight. With a shared glance, they urged their steeds forward, wanting to know if this desert wanderer needed their help. Just when the duo hurried over the small sand dune in the way of their quarry, they were also met face to face with the man they least expected to find.

"Whoa… never thought I get to see you again, dude!" Alfred jumped off of his pack animal to greet the man. In response, Vash looked up. There was an amused expression on his cheery complexion, but there was still some apprehension in his eyes. Alfred wasn't surprised. Even though the Nations were aging, it was darn slower than a human. "How ya been?"

"Great!" Vash responded in kind. He hefted the man who was over one of his shoulders to slap Alfred's high-five. As soon as he waved a greeting to Matthew, he turned to the American with a confused expression. "Gee, how long has it been?"

"I say a little less than ten years," Alfred responded. Vash looked like he was going to ask another question, possibly addressing the fact that Alfred looked like he hadn't aged a day, but Alfred nodded towards the blond that was hanging over Vash's shoulder like a sack of meat. "You going to explain that? It looks like you're a human trafficker."

"Ahem." Matthew had silently jumped off his creature and glared at all. "Shouldn't you be inviting those two to come with us?" This was blatantly directed at Alfred. "Or do I need to drag you both to town?"

"I would love that," Vash replied. "But I'm kind of surprised that you're both kind of ignoring the elephant in the room!"

"Like the fact that you have someone grievously wounded hanging over your shoulder?"

"Or that I've got a bounty over my head?"

"Dude, where'd your awesome coat go? Kind of jealous how you've kept that figure…"

* * *

Over the course of the ride to the city, Matthew sneaks many glances at his brother. He's kind of surprised that his face was startlingly neutral, but also relieved. After the July incident, Alfred had been hell-bent on avenging Rem's descendant and the poor souls who were left behind in the July destruction. Often, Matthew had to calm his brother down from going outside and start shooting at people who he thought was Vash the Stampede. Of course, things died down and Matthew began to feel less apprehensive over his brother's grudge over the subject.

When Alfred first told the Canadian that he had somehow befriended the gunslinger, Matthew didn't know if he should believe him or discourage this nonsense. Even after many hours of discussion, the thought that beer addled Alfred's brain wouldn't leave Matthew alone.

Until now.

Up close, Vash the Stampede clearly resembled that of the pictures. He didn't age, and even if he did, he aged well. There were many theories that Matthew would like to voice later on, but the Canadian chose to ignore his overreacting imagination and focused on the man's easygoing smile and his slouching posture. He was obviously bowing underneath his brother's weight on his shoulder.

While Matthew harbored the same feelings as his brother, he found that he couldn't find the will to resent the marksman.

Was that natural? Matthew thought and just simply smiled.

Revenge.

Whether or not Alfred exaggerated what happened during that shootout in the bar, Matthew was glad that Alfred wasn't trying to kill this man.

"What are you smiling at?" Alfred asked in puzzled concern.

Matthew smiles a Cheshire cat grin before telling Alfred that he shouldn't end his sentences with a preposition.

* * *

The group of four travels to a city and it's there that they treat Vash's older brother, Knives. Matthew is a bit leery about the whole incident—what if people recognize the gunman?—but the lack of the trademark coat and the gun was long gone. They all end up staying in a hotel in two different rooms, close together so that they could aid Vash in healing his brother and talking with the blond hooligan.

Alfred whistled once he walked out of Knives' room, his brother being far more efficient at doctoring people.

"Looks like someone did a number on him, can't believe he's still breathing."

Vash combs through his hair with his good arm and winces slightly. There's a century's worth of emotion under that wince and Alfred isn't sure if he wants to have an explanation about that.

"Yeah, he's my brother, I'm pretty sure that he's been through worse."

"Hm?"

Alfred has long since learned to read the atmosphere and he knows not to interrupt this man who is about to spill some sensitive sentiment with him. Gently, Alfred prods the lad and he is rewarded with a wayward, yet water smile and a bitter chortle.

"I—we—did some things in our past that we are not proud of."

Alfred doesn't move, doesn't speak. He doesn't want to frighten the man into thinking that he was thinking the worst in him. What was required from him now was to just be there and listen. Alfred knows it's against his nature to just be quiet, but he withholds the urge to speak.

Vash begins to explain who he really is, what he's capable of doing, and why he tries his hardest not to kill people. More and more words are spilling out of Vash's mouth and it's at this moment that Alfred is grateful that he didn't find Vash during those years of turmoil, grateful that he helped bandage him when he was injured, and also grateful that Rem stayed within his heart for so many years.

Alfred was watering so bad that he brought his lanky arms to encircle Vash's body. At first, Vash stiffens before enforcing contact. Neither of them notices a certain Canadian who is standing near the door with a look of the casual voyeur before turning away.

"Rem," Alfred mumbles into Vash's shirt, "she would have been proud of you…so very proud."

* * *

_There are times in life where ideas just have to be voiced and this one idea was no exception to that rule. They were both lying underneath a tree, Alex can't remember which kind, but he knows that it provides them with shade. The world's still turning and Rem is still healing from her confession, but he has to ask. He reasons that he's only curious and promises himself to stop with his incessant talk if Rem doesn't want to talk about it._

"_Know what Rem, I think that if we were to have kids, I think that they should have awesome names!"_

_There's a beat of silence and Alex fears that he may have crossed the line with his stupid mouth and curiosity, but then Rem leans even closer to him and gives him a bright smile that could rival that of the sun. _

"_Really?"_

"_Of course! Now I was thinking something heroic like Bruce or Clark or—"_

"_Haha, stop it Alex! We are not naming our theoretical kids after superhero aliases."_

"_But you have to admit that they're cool right?"_

"_If you want to debate on names…how about something strong, but short?"_

"_Ugh, I don't know…how about Vash? I know a Swiss guy and he's pretty great with guns."_

"_Hmm, for once your idea isn't that half baked… Alright, we'll compromise, since you came up with a normal name, you can come up with a hero one."_

"_You're the best Rem! Hmm…"_

"_Knives! We can have two babies, one named Vash and the other named Knives!"_

"_Any explanation as to why you came up with that?"_

"_You just said—"_

"_Alright, I hereby christen my pretend twins Knives and Vash!"_

_Both of them ended up laughing and talking about their futures as the scent of red geraniums filled the air.  
_


End file.
